


The Devil You Know

by Captain_Kiri_Storm (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Untamed - K. Ramsuer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hydra Won (Marvel), Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Coyote Brock Rumlow, Crossover Hell, F/M, HYDRA Trash Party, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mercenaries, Mitra the Bitchy Wolf, Morally grey Brock Rumlow, On the Run, One Night Stands, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Shapeshifter Dynamics, Slow Burn, That Become Love, There is a Sound Track, There will be violence, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Why Did I Write This?, past HYDRA Trash Party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: Tangling with other sokh'ani isn't something that Brock Rumlow likes to do.For one, they'll take what's left of his face off. For another, they really don't get along with people outside of their packs. And third, he's pretty sure every other pack knows just who blew the lid off the whole 'hiding in plain sight thing' (but sue him: he wasn't gonna die by Cap's fucking hands). But hey, he doesn't need half a dozen others to tell him how stupid he is. Brock has Jack for that.Then he meets Mitra on a job gone wrong. And promptly gets his ass kicked by one pissy Russian wolf who really has no business looking as hot as he does. It's been a long time since he's been with one of his own kind (no offense Jack). One thing leads to another and the next thing Brock knows, he's got what's left of HYDRA hot on his tail and a pack of very pissed off shapeshifters rallying to his defense.Now if he can only figure out how he got into this mess...
Relationships: Adam Spivey (Untamed)/Cahira (Untamed), Brock Rumlow/Jack Rollins/Mitra (Untamed), Brock Rumlow/Mitra (Untamed), Jack Rollins & Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, OMC/OFC
Comments: 20
Kudos: 7





	1. Dead Man Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Don't judge me. This idea has been rattling around my head for some time. These two songs made it spawn:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IDnFzr_ZaY  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZJwRslmhe0

Brock tried not to show his other side in public. If the scars wouldn't get the attention, one pissed off coyote with a mouth full of fangs and one white eye would. He understood Jack now - it sucked balls to have one eye that worked and one that functioned as decoration. But hey, he wasn't going to let that little thing get in the way of making cold, hard cash. He'd ridden the HYDRA gravy train until it ran out in a fiery explosion. In hindsight, that was pretty damn typical of humans when they screwed with shit they didn't understand. Either they gave themselves magic powers (highly unlikely) or summoned a demon from the Hinterlands that ate them, bones and all (that happened much more often).

Facing down sixteen pissed off coyotes wasn't the way Brock had imagined his day going. There was a big old one, with a half a left ear and scars all down her chest, that looked like she was plotting how best to kill him. Brock didn't blame her. He glanced back towards his men, noting that everyone was going for their guns. Yeah. Like that would work. You didn't get old in this world without learning a few tricks and the beat up ones had some kills. The big female with the grey eyes looked like she'd taken down some nasty shit in her time. Brock didn't intend to fight them. It'd be sixteen on one. Not great odds, no matter how much he wanted it. There was a beat up wolf, too, with weird amber eyes. It looked like it wasn't going to wait for the signal.

"Put em down." Brock dropped his pistol, reading the unspoken challenge. The big female's fur rippled. Brock didn't have to look around to see that no one had done what he said. Right. He was dealing with independent contractors, not a team of highly trained professionals. "Put it down. Now. I don't wanna be pickin' bits of y'all outta my truck."

Jack looked at him like he was crazy. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Speaking to power in a language it understands." Brock dropped to his knees, letting the big female approach him. She was a nasty looking beast, with scars that cut into her skin. She seemed to float over the forest floor and Brock could see the darkness in those stone grey eyes. If looks could kill, he would have been dead in seconds.

The female cocked her head. She growled low and it sounded like the rumble of thunder before a storm. It had been a long time since Brock had ran into something that counted as an 'alpha bitch' and now he wondered why he missed it. This thing looked like it could kill him in seconds and he'd be wondering why his head was hitting the ground. She lunged at Jack, her gleaming fangs snapping inches from his hands. He yelled, jerking away from her. Brock opened his mouth, ready to warn them, but he heard the sharp _crack_ of a pistol. A coyote screamed. Within seconds, they lunged. Brock didn't even hesitate. One second, he was a crouching human. The next, he was lunging at the beat up female.

She met him with a savage bite to the shoulder, her fangs ripping into his flesh. Brock jerked away. She snapped at him again, driving him back with each successive bite. Brock sank his jaws into her right front, crunching through bone. She snarled and ranked her claws down his face. Brock let up, about to lunge at her again, but something bowled him over. He got up, shaking the dirt out of his fur. The big wolf circled him, hackles up. His mottled black fur was streaked with scars and his ears lay flat against his skull. Brock snarled. He fake lunged, the blood drying on his muzzle. The wolf snarled at him. He was bigger, true, but Brock was faster.

He feinted right before turning on his paws - and sinking his teeth into hair. He shook his head, taking off. The wolf followed him, his bigger strides eating up the ground. Brock jumped over one of his dead men before leaping into the truck bed. The wolf followed him - Brock lunging at his throat. He sunk his teeth into the protective ruff and the force sent them both over backwards. The wolf batted him with his hind paws, blunt claws raking out strips of fur and skin. Brock bit down harder. One of the others, a black coyote, sunk her jaws into Brock's shoulder. Brock let go of the wolf and pounced on the female. He ripped out chunks of fur and flesh, sending her screaming into the underbrush.

The big female loped towards him. She limped now, her pelt covered in blood. Brock bristled. He growled low, his eyes searching the forest. Most of his men had fled to the trucks. Others were dead. He stepped over another body, his paws tripped over a knife. Brock growled at them both before crouching. Instead of lunging, he shifted. Grabbed the knife and lunged for the wolf. It dodged him and bit into his shoulder, making him scream. The female lunged at him, but Brock sank the knife into her shoulder. She backed off, her hackles all the way up. Brock yanked the knife off and stabbed the big wolf in the side. It had been awhile since he'd fought like this - he'd forgotten how much punishment sokh'ani could take.

The wolf shifted back and an amber eyed man wrestled with him for the knife. Brock decked him in the face, grunting as a second blade slid through his ribs. He jerked it out, instead aiming for the amber eyed man's throat. He could take just as much as they could if not more. The man growled at him - right before aiming a savage blow at Brock's head. Brock returned it in kind, driving the man back for a few seconds. Both men struggled to their feet. Blood fell in scarlet drops to the forest floor and the clearing reeked of death. Brock stretched out as best he could, narrowing his dark eyes. The other man set his jaw. Brock waiting for him to lunge, then he feinted and his knife into the man's side.

He fell in a heap. Brock jumped over his body and stumbled towards the truck. Jack was already trying to get the engine going - that was why their little convoy had stopped - and he let Brock in. Brock collapsed in the seat, wiping blood and sweat off of his brow.

"Just drive," he panted. "Doesn't matter where - get me the hell out of here!"

Jack gave him a nasty look. "What the hell was _that_ about?!"

"Remember when I said that my kinfolk don't like me very much?" Brock rummaged for the first aid kit. He assumed that Jack nodded. "Yeah, that was them. Well, some of them." He tried to stop the sluggish bleeding on his side. God, this hurt. It was a stabbing feeling that wasn't going to go away any time soon. Brock didn't have the energy to shift and he needed to keep his wits about him for the rest of this little shindig.

"Do I need to be worried about the rest of them?" Jack slowly asked. He gave Brock a long look. "Rumlow, I don't care how tough you think you are. You just got your ass kicked."

"Gimme a bottle of cherry brandy and I'll be fine," Brock muttered. He looked up with tired eyes, not wanting to explain why he got his ass kicked. If Leo could have held his damn gun, he wouldn't have been left for dead. The fight wouldn't have happened and Brock wouldn't have had to wear his second face. He liked to avoid that, if he could.

It brought back way too many memories and none of them were good.


	2. A Meeting of Equals

Brock wanted to throw the goddam iPad through the window. Payroll was a fucking pain in the ass. Now he knew why Molly had wanted all the sheets in three days early - he was running ten men, not several hundred, but it was still hard to input everything in the spreadsheet and get the formulas right. That was the hardest part and he was having to take one of those free Excel classes on the side. Finding WiFi was another pain in the ass. If Brock had been operating out of a double wide in the woods, it would have been an upgrade. As it sat, those cafes with free WiFi and hot coffee were starting to become his very best friend.

It wasn't like he could run a laptop off his burner phone anyway.

Brock pushed the glasses up his nose, mentally cursing as he fought with the iPad. He had several tabs open - one to find the formulas he needed and another that held the jumbled mess that was his team's sheets. He also knew why Molly had gone off on his ass about following the rules. Of course, his company was made up of rejects and runaways, so there was no way in hell his guys were going to follow something like a spreadsheet. That meant Brock was left to juggle the sums, figure out some way to send the girlfriends and the widows enough money for a few pine boxes, and probably ask Alpha Wood to give him back the bodies, pretty please. He figured that doing this for a living would be enough to drive anyone mad.

Someone cleared his throat. Brock ignored him, grabbing the stylus again and trying to find the fucking average function. Why did he need a degree in finance to deal with this stupid thing? He was STRIKE. Brock hadn't even finished high school and his GED came via SHIELD, so he wasn't sure how much that one was worth in the real world. He really wanted to get back with the others and watch reruns of _M.A.S.H_ and _Hogan's Heroes_. That was what Jack was running right now and Brock really wanted to go back there. Unfortunately, the next day was payday and some poor fuckface had to wrangle with the bank. That poor fuckface happened to be named Brock Rumlow.

"Yes?" Brock looked up after the idiot didn't go away. He narrowed his eyes. It was the man with the light amber eyes and the dark hair. He had a nasty scar on the side of his face, like he'd been shot a few times. Brock gripped his stylus. "What do you want?"

"To see your face." The man had a light accent and he sat down. He even moved like a wolf - like he was made of grace and power. He reached across the table, like he wanted to shake Brock's hand, but Brock ignored him. The man's eyes flashed a muted gold.

Brock snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Real scary, you fucking pain in the ass."

"You stabbed me."

"And you tried to bite my throat out." Brock went back to his tablet. "I'd say we're even. You?"

"What's your name?" The man paused some, glancing around. There was more of an accent to his words now, like he was starting to get a little more annoyed. "Mine is Mitra."

"Brock Rumlow." Brock grumbled some and wished he had a way to tell the other guy to fuck off. He was tired, he was grumpy, and he was missing popcorn and some of his favorite shows. The last time he'd watched them, he'd been over with Cap and the other Avengers. It wasn't like he was going to do that again. He muttered something under his breath. Mitra was his type of man - all lean power, sharp angles, and the little bit of something else that came with being sokh'ani. For a few minutes, he let himself wonder what it would be like to have another one like himself. It had been thirty years since he'd had something like that and damn him, but he missed it.

The man took a deep breath. "You're a shapeshifter, like me. I've never... I didn't know that you could live without a pack for that long. After... after I was expelled from Russia, it took me several months to find a pack. It took... it took everything out of me." He looked down some and sighed softly. "I think I'm asking if you want a pack. I could ask Tate..."

"Ask Tate if I can have the bodies of my men back," Brock slowly asked. "And you might have a deal."

He wasn't above using his body to get what he wanted. There were some thing he had to do as a mercenary. He'd sucked a few dicks, eaten a few women out, and allowed people of all genders to do whatever the fuck they wanted to his body. He probably had a couple of kids out there. He sighed, trying to chase the demons out of his mind. Mitra seemed like a decent guy. There wasn't anything really off about him - Brock could usually tell if he was dealing with a real lulu - but Brock didn't have the time for romantic things. Especially if he needed to get to get three bodies back from the other pack. He glanced towards the other man, mentally noting how he looked and how he held himself. Brock had a feeling that Mitra wouldn't be that rough with him.

"The bodies have already been buried," Mitra softly said. He glanced at the iPad, frowning some. "What are you trying to do?"

"Things." Brock sighed. "What do I tell the families, then? Because those men had families, Mitra. What the fuck am I supposed to tell them, huh?" He rubbed his face and looked Mitra square in his amber eyes. "Those were _my_ men. One of them had been with me since STRIKE. And guess what? I got him _killed_!"

Because he couldn't keep them under control. There was a problem right there, but it probably wasn't with them as much as it was him. Brock couldn't stop himself from growling at Mitra or pinning him with his hot golden gaze. Brock looked down. The scars on his face should have reminded him that he was nothing but fire and death. He might have been a sokh'ani, but he was still a man. He still couldn't do much of anything about his urges or the fact that he felt some sort of attraction to the man. Mitra's hair was mussed up, like he hadn't bothered to brush it. It looked soft, fine. It didn't have the slight bit of curl that Brock's did and the slightly younger man wanted to curl his fingers through it.

Mitra swallowed and touched his hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Death is... well, she's a constant thing, I'm afraid. I would say that it gets better, but then I would be lying to you."

Brock just sighed. He scrawled down his most recent burner phone number and shoved it at Mitra. "Work with Alpha Wood on the bodies, will ya? You do that and I'll make it good for you, I promise."

Then he got up, trying to tell himself that he wanted what he was promising, that he really did.


	3. Take Me to the River

Brock rested in the truck bed, beer bottle resting beside him. If he got drunk, he got drunk. He was tired, he was sweaty, and he was just taking the day off. If that meant that Jack had to do some leadership, that meant that Jack had to do some leadership. He'd taken the SHIELD classes. He knew what he was doing. Brock was just going to fuck off for the rest of the day. He stared at his hands, looking at the thick, coarse sable fur that spread across his fingers. He knew what he looked like when he was a coyote - the dark cream saddle and mask over his face, the splash of ash grey on the chest, the white-gold fur that covered the rest of the body. Brock liked to think he was rather striking.

Mitra, though? Mitra was another fucking story. Mitra had thick, mottled black fur and spots of grey poked through the brindle. His eyes were a weird amber and they even stayed when he was human. Brock only had the golden eyes when he was pissed off or when he was a coyote. He'd learned how to keep it under control when he was HYDRA. Otherwise, Brock would have wound up on a table in the basement. As it was, he was lucky to have escaped with his life. He figured that the scientists would have ripped him up if they knew what he was. They would have dug through his body - it didn't matter if he was living or dead - until they found what they wanted.

Brock heard something. He perked his head up, looking around the small clearing. They had stopped in neutral territory, far away from the packs, but that didn't mean there couldn't be loners going around. He slipped out of the truck bed, slipping over the mossy ground. They didn't have a base camp, but they were going to get one soon. Everyone was sticking around their rough little camp right now and Brock didn't want to get anyone attacked. He walked around campers and RVs. Brock's sharp hearing could pick up the TVs and other things, but he could also hear something rustling in the brush. It didn't sound like a squirrel or rabbit, though. It sounded a little different. Like a little brush of the wild.

A black brindled head popped out of a bush. Brock's breath caught. Mitra sauntered into the camp like he owned the place. He fixed his brilliant amber eyes on Brock and stared at him, like he was daring Brock to do anything. Brock took a deep breath. He let the change ripple across his body and trotted over to the wolf. Mitra was much bigger than he was and Brock's head just reached up to the wolf's shoulder. Mitra didn't nip at him or try to drive him away. He simply trotted away, glancing back at Brock to ensure that he was following. Mitra's much larger stride ate up the ground. He seemed to float over the rough ground. Every tree and fence wire, he knew where it was.

Brock, on the other hand, ran into three hog wire fences and got barked at by someone's mutt.

The forests were green and dark around him, almost brooding in their silence. Mitra chose a small clearing beside a muddy creek and he flopped himself on a large slap of mossy rock. Brock clambered on top of a log covered in resurrection fern. He rubbed his face over the rotting wood and dipped a paw in the still, muddy water. The only sounds were bird calls and the odd animal rustled in the leaves. They lay there in a companionable silence, their thick pelts protecting them from the buzzing insects. Brock didn't know what Mitra wanted. The wolf wasn't going to try and attack him. Brock wasn't going to attack him. They didn't curl up beside each other, the heat prevented that, but they could lay underneath the heavy Spanish moss.

It was rather nice. The lapping creek, muddy as it was, was a contrast to the thick, green jungle that surrounded them. Saw palmettos clustered by the tangled oak trees. Here and there, Brock could see the crumbled ruins of an old house. Gleaming marble, streaked as it was with grime and mud, stuck out from tangles of briars and honeysuckle. Wood, rotten and charred, lay against the muddy ground. Some of it was half buried in the leaf litter. Brock could see little silvers of the heavy, grey sky through the gaps in the branches. It looked like it was going to rain soon. Brock didn't want to deal with a sodden pelt, so he slid down the log and let out a sharp bark.

Mitra turned his head and growled softly. His amber eyes seemed to glow in the heavy light. Brock growled back. He climbed the rock with stiff legs, slamming his hips into Mitra's side. Mitra snapped at him. His ears went flat against his skull and he growled softly. Brock snapped at him. His hackles went straight up. He growled low at the older wolf, trying to let him know that he wasn't backing down. Mitra ducked his head after a few minutes and nudged Brock in the side. Brock flicked his ears, letting Mitra know that everything was alright. Brock flopped down and rested his head on his paws. Mitra nudged him, but soon a tongue rasped over the ugly scars on his face.

Brock cocked his head. Mitra huffed, nipping over his ears. This close, Brock could see the bands of dark and light hairs and smell his unique, woodsy scent. Mitra huffed once again and nibbled Brock's cheek. Brock huffed at him - he didn't like that - but Mitra ignored him. The wolf was so much bigger than he was. His body rippled with tightly packed muscles where Brock was lean and slender. Scars branded his thick pelt, but they were from fangs and claws rather from fire. Mitra was a beautiful man, even with his odd amber eyes, and he was a truly beautiful wolf. Brock, on the other hand, was a beat up old coyote. His fur looked like ever other coyote in the galaxy, sans a few.

Mitra shifted back and stroked Brock's pelt. His hands were soft and gentle, rather than the grasping, grabbing hands Brock was used too. For a second, he thought that Mitra was his father, that he was going to be slammed into a cinder block wall and he bared his teeth. Mitra drew his hand back. It took Brock a minute, but he slowed his breathing and allowed Mitra to pet him.

"You're so pretty," Mitra whispered. "So stunning. Soft, too."

No, he wasn't pretty. Not even as a coyote. He used to be beautiful as a man. Not anymore - the fire had ruined that. He whined softly after Mitra did that and pulled away. He trotted on home, trying to understand what was going on. Or why he wanted to see Mitra again.


	4. That Which Stays Unsaid

Brock tried to keep out of other shifters way. He was a pariah, an outcast, something that they didn't want to mess with and he understood why. He'd ripped the head off of the well kept secret. He'd shifted in front of everyone, gotten in the middle of what was branded as a terror attack, and indirectly contributed to a group taking charge of an American state. Yeah, he knew why they didn't like him. He was nothing but a pain in their collective asses. They hated him, he hated them, and everyone was happier if he left them alone. Brock didn't need to stir up any more trouble. He needed to gather his men and get the hell out of there. It wasn't in his blood to take it easy and he didn't have the cash to crash in Florida.

He trotted back into the clearing, keeping a look out for anything that might be amiss. He had enemies. There were old things out here, things that didn't like humans and remembered when humans didn't exist. Brock was pretty sure that Alpha Wood would kill him if she had the chance. Alpha Deerinwater had tried too and it was only Brock's cunning that kept him from getting killed. He was the reason that the former president had decided to become "God's Representative to the Remanent on Earth". The guy couldn't take immigrants. His vice president had tried to pray away a major viral outbreak. It was to be expected. Both of them up and left and left the Congress in charge of everything.

Brock only paused to roll in a light dust to cool himself off. He didn't want to go swimming - the thick mats of red and green algae took ages to get out of creamy fur - and the dirt was more than enough to cool him off. He shook himself out and trotted into the camp proper. Collier looked up from cleaning his pistol. He just started, but he calmed down as soon as he recognized Brock's pelt. Brock simply stared at him, amber gold eyes tearing holes into bright blue. Collier looked away. Brock trotted away from him and jumped over a pile of crates. Going by all the propane tanks that had popped up, it looked like they were going to stay there for awhile.

He growled under his breath and hopped up in his truck bed to survey the camp. He could hear some of the others, watching pirated satellite TV, and he knew that at least one of his men was starting to dunk some cheap steaks in whiskey. Brock licked his lips. He had the idea to hunt, to bless himself and Jack with some fresh meat, but that would require way too much work. He didn't feel like dragging down a deer or chasing a rabbit. Of course, being a coyote, he could always snack on field mice like one might snack on potato chips, but he wasn't in the mood of washing blood off of his fur. He had the feeling that Jack wouldn't be too pleased if Brock came trotting home, his face and chest clotted with blood.

"There you are!"

Brock picked his head up and flicked his ears back. Jack's green eyes glittered in anger as he clambered up beside Brock. The truck bed dipped and swayed. Brock sprang up. He lowered his head and ears, warning Jack off. He wasn't in the mood. It was too hot and the cool metal felt great under his thick, fluffy pelt. Jack held out a hand, much like Brock was a dog, and Brock nosed it away. He watched the man with sharp, golden eyes, tracking him. Making sure that he didn't do anything Brock didn't like. Jack slowly lowered his hand until he was resting his fingers in Brock's plush fur. He lowered his ears against his skull, but he tolerated it. Jack's other arm was in a sling. It wasn't like he could do anything.

"Did you roll in dirt?" Jack slowly asked. He pulled back his hand, a look of disgust on his face. Dirt, leaf fragments, and more clung to his fingers. Jack sighed softly. "I was worried. Thought that you wound up dead."

Brock rolled his eyes and slapped Jack with his tail. He wasn't that weak! HYDRA wasn't going to take him that easily - he was even quicker than most drones now. He knew how to use his legs, his tail, and his thick fur to avoid capture. Brock knew just how powerful his jaws were - he'd crushed part of a metal chain when he was younger. 

"Hey!" Jack jerked his hands back and gave Brock a nasty look. "That was uncalled for."

Brock huffed and stood up. He wasn't in the mood for talking. He liked Mitra for some reason. He didn't know why - Brock was famous for being slow to trust - but he trusted Mitra. He trusted Jack in the same way. He turned around in the truck bed before he lay his head down on Jack's lap. He nosed the man's limp and useless arm, regret in his eyes. He'd done that. He'd grabbed the only bit of Jack that he could reach and dragged. Severed the nerves, severed the tendons, damn near ripped the arm clean off. Brock had shifted in front of the TV cameras, letting the world see a man become a coyote. He hadn't cared. Brock hadn't expected for the chaos to come, for the people to be frantic and for Paragon to have formed.

He hadn't expected the massacre of the hybrid dogs or the way people were tossed out of their homes or outright murdered. Brock didn't think there would have been a fight, that the packs would have been thrown into the spotlight. Cahokia and the mounds had been attacked days later. Brock had been tracked down by a man with the eyes of a hawk. He had been left, bleeding and wounded, to die. Brock looked up and tapped the tip of his tail against the battered, rusted metal. It might have made him a bad person, but Brock would have done everything all over again.

Jack was his first and oldest friend, the man who hadn't asked questions when Brock vanished during missions or wondered why he smelled of blood, wind, and moonlight.

Jack stroked over Brock's ears. "I don't want to lose you, you know. You do stupid things." He tapped Brock's nose and avoided the nipping teeth. "I'm not lying, Brock. And if you don't do something stupid, something bad happens to you."

Brock gave him a dirty look. He wasn't _that_ bad. He hadn't intended for any of this to happen - the blood, the killing, the people murdered for the mere suspicion that they had been sokh'ani. Things that had been talked about on the internet - a so-called culture war - that had turned into blood in the streets. People who cheered as a wild animal was ripped apart by dogs. Not all of Paragon was religiously extreme - it wouldn't have survived for more than a few months if it was - but the majority of it was the sort of rabid hate mongers that Brock had spent his life fighting. He'd made himself watched as the new leadership torched libraries and killed wolf-dogs.

He deserved that pain, he thought. He'd brought devastation and he didn't need to forget it.

Brock stood up and butted Jack's forehead, his amber eyes sliding closed. People wanted to kill him, he knew. The packs hated him. The Feds wanted him to be diced up on a steel table. Paragon would be happy to try and take him apart. He slowly rested his front paws on Jack's shoulders, looking deep into his green eyes. He felt safer as a coyote, but he figured Jack would be happy if he was actually a person. He plopped himself on Jack's lap and shifted back. As soon as he had hands, he squeezed Jack's and offered him a tired kiss.

"Hey." Brock rested against the larger man, watching as the red, heavy stun started to drop behind the trees.

"Don't run off on me," Jack softly said. "You know I worry."

Brock just gave him a crooked smile. "No promises."


	5. Nothing Fades Like the Sunrise

Brock kept his nose to the ground as he trotted over the rolling landscape. He kept one amber eye on Jack and the rest on his men - he'd gotten wind that there was going to be HYDRA activity in this sector and the last thing he needed was for some gung-ho idiot to shoot up the village. That meant that he had to head them off at the pass with the rest of his men. There was a religious convention in town, too. The last thing anyone needed was a royal fuck up. Knowing HYDRA, there was going to be an explosive, royal fuck up. Brock liked keeping his head attached to his body, so he was going to try and keep the peace. That meant that he had to turn traitor against his former employer.

Brock was okay with that, just as long as Jack got to stay alive.

He pressed through the tall, lush grass, his belly sliding across the wet ground. Star moss squished between his cream paws, staining them with the water. He avoided the tall thistles, knowing the needles would jam into his flesh. He took point because he was a coyote and even though he scared some of the men, he had senses that they couldn't even dream of. Brock bared his teeth as he pressed forwards. Idiots. He could smell three men and see a head. He counted at least five, going from the boot prints, and he figured there were at least three more hiding in the bushes. He lowered his head, the fur on the back of his spine went straight up. He knew one of the men in that group.

Archer wouldn't leave a single one of them alive, orders or not. Brock bared his teeth and slipped through the grass. He needed to take Archer out before he dealt with the others. Brock crept through the grass and bracken with the silent grace only a coyote had. He could see the black clad men and smell the paint they smeared their faces with. His teeth gleamed in the dull light and he struck the second he was close enough. Archer never had a chance. Brock grabbed him by the neck and dragged him down. He could hear the men yelling and his own grabbed their weapons. Brock held on to Archer until his body stopped bucking and he slumped to the ground.

Brock leapt away from the body. He snarled and fought, twisting around a Malinois. The dog lunged at him, but Brock was quicker. He pinned the dog to the ground and sunk his jaws into the animal's throat. It screamed and struggled, trying to get away from him, but he held the dog down and slowly strangled it. He dropped it as soon as it stopped moving. He snarled and snarled, dodging the bullets and the men lunging for him. Several of them knew what he looked like - Rumlow the traitor was well known. His scars branded HYDRA intel across the world. Brock barked and snarled as he sank his fangs into Carson's arm. The man screamed. He wheeled backwards and fell as Brock ripped out a chunk of flesh.

Jack finished him off. Brock growled. He rolled when a bullet lodged into his shoulder. He growled and barked, lunging and snapping at everyone who got in his way. Brock fought beside Jack, moving with grace and speed and dragging men down so Jack could kill them. It was amazing what a coyote could do to a fully grown man - even one that was as beat up as he was. Brock dragged another man down and rolled over the trampled grass. The man stabbed him between the ribs. Brock screamed and gasped before shifting back. His blood, mixed with mud and hair, coated his fingers as he yanked the weapon out. Brock stabbed the man, tossing his body aside as he staggered up.

The battle was mostly over. Brock cursed when he saw a familiar ragged face streaking towards him. He bared his teeth, prepared to fight Alpha Wood. She paused a few feet from him, her eyes dark and stormy. Brock clutched his bloody wound, panting softly as he looked at her. Alpha Wood bared her teeth. Mitra stood beside her, his golden eyes strangely cool. Brock cursed under his breath. He forced himself to shift back, panting from the pain of it. He wagged his tail back and forth slowly, trying to show that he wasn't looking for a fight. Wood took a few steps towards him, her teeth bared. There was something strange in her eyes, something that spoke of things Brock would rather stay hidden.

Behind him, his men froze.

Brock lowered himself to his belly, the mud and blood soaking into his fur. Wood stood over him, her fangs bared. Her scars looked much the same as his this close up, like she'd been burned. Brock shivered some. She lowered her ruined muzzle to him and he slowly turned his head so she could grasp his muzzle with her fangs. They were razor sharp and going from the wear, she'd been in a lot of fights. Brock panted softly. Wood drew back after a few seconds and nuzzled his side. Brock took the cue to stand up. She was small next to him, something lean and light were he had a bulk of muscle and scars. Mitra trotted up beside him, but Wood snapped and he jerked back.

Brock took the opportunity to shift back. "It would be easier if we could do this face to face, you know. I don't know how to read body language anymore."

Alpha Wood shifted back and a young woman with scars half visible under her clothes glared at him. "You want these bodies, too? Or do I need to build a fucking bonfire or dig another pit?"

"I don't care about these." Brock squatted down and tried to catch his breath. His face was pale. He felt exhausted, like he was made of water and jello. "Do whatever you damn well want with them. I don't care - they're just HYDRA anyways and I never did like them."

Wood frowned when she nudged the dying dog with her boot. It whined, but snapped at her as she tried to touch it. "Didja have to kill the dog, too?"

"It was trying to kill me." Brock settled back and tried to hide his aggression. He'd dealt with worse in his time. One nasty tempered Alpha coyote wouldn't do him any harm. "These are my men. They'll follow me, but I don't know if they'll follow you."

Jack raised a hand and gestured to the rest of the men. "Translation for any of us who don't understand canine? As in, me?"

"Your Alpha happened to swear alliance." Wood raised a brow. "We're having a little trouble with HYDRA and the Dominion down here and maybe you could teach us a few things." She offered Brock a nasty smile - a smile that made Brock think of battle and aggression. Wood shrugged. "I don't know if y'all have a thing about women or not - but I'm not gonna take any shit from anyone. If anyone tries anything, well, maybe you saw what your Alpha did with the enemy."

"My name is Brock Rumlow." Brock held out a hand.

"Tate Wood." Wood ignored it. She turned away and motioned to his men before shifting into a coyote.

Brock watched her streak through the underbrush. He'd wanted to be in a pack for a long time and now that he had that, he was pretty sure he was going to get his ass kicked. He just shook his head and turned back to the others. There was nothing he could say to them, no explanation he could give. He didn't like being alone, that was all he could say.

Brock had been lonely for a long time, too.


	6. Find Your Place

Brock wasn't too fond of living in trailers, nor did he want to live near a place called the "Shantytown". The place reeked of poverty and desperation, with rundown trailers and barefoot kids running past piles of rusted, twisted mile and fetid streams of rainbow water. There were a few scrawny dogs, but not much else. The alligators in the chicken lagoons had taken to killing the strays animals and even snapping at the local kids. No one had been able to kill it yet. Of course, Tate probably hadn't been able to try yet. She had a lot of things to do. Paragon had even sent agents into pack territory. Of course, one of the teams had been captured and turned into the state police after they tagged Tate in some rather interesting tweets.

There was a first rule of trying to assassinate someone: never talk about it on social media.

Brock wanted to know what they were teaching kids these days. From what little Brock knew, only a few members of HYDRA had resettled themselves in the ideological wasteland that was Paragon. The ones that did probably weren't going to be the type to train recruits - that was mostly his job. He'd done the physical work of it and they were likely to be doing the paper pushing. Not that there was anything wrong with that, as Brock had dealt with a technical writer who absolutely _would_ fuck your projects up if you annoyed her. Those people, though, wouldn't be people like Kiara. They would be weak and smarmy people, the ones that only received their advancements because they kissed the right asses.

Brock sat on the rickety front porch, mug of coffee in his hands. He did like mornings like this, though. Peaceful and quiet and he didn't have to worry about fighting. It was hard being on the top. He had to make the calls and write the letters to all the grieving (or not so grieving) partners. He also had to deal with the local companies and see if he could get tombstones for his dead men. Tate was arranging for the bodies to be moved to the cemetery proper, even though the men would be in a pine box rather than a fancy coffin. Brock shrugged softly. He figured that was how it would work - you won some and you lost some. At least these men would have a decent resting place.

Jack rapped on the front door as he stepped out. "What a dump. What an ever loving, motherfucking _dump_." 

"Careful," Brock replied. He sat down on the porch railing and sipped more of his coffee. "Alpha Wood did the best she could. It can't be easy to put a whole crew up on short notice. Remember, Jackie, that she lives here and we didn't."

"Then why did you stay?" Jack asked. He pressed a stubbly kiss to Brock's cheek. "We can always go, you know. We don't have to stay here. I mean, I think most of the crew might like to stay here, but I don't. You're nothing but a nuisance to this "Alpha" and she might snap. Those eyes are crazy, Brock." Jack shook his head and sat back down. "I don't want to die, you know. I'd like to see the next sunrise."

"Then you picked the wrong profession," Brock replied. He shrugged some. "You know I can't guarantee it."

"Yes, but I would rather you than some teenage Alpha coyote," Jack replied.

"She's not a teenager," Brock sighed. "I don't think she'd like you calling her that, either." Brock paused and glanced at his phone. That was odd. He didn't think that packs could summon members via texts, but apparently this one did. Brock got up and saluted his second in command. "Well, looks like duty calls. Also, I gotta find us some transportation, because this running thing is for the fucking _birds_!"

Jack just shook his head and sighed. "You don't have to do this, you know. You don't have to kowtow to some - "

"I'm not kowtowing." Brock silenced anymore criticisms with a kiss and let the change flow over his body.

The world always seemed sharper when he had four legs and a tail. Scents burst inside his muzzle, giving him a wealth of information that he could only dream of as a man. His eyes could track minute shifts in the blades of grass. His paws could feel the way the earth sang beneath him and the way it talked of untold riches and unsung songs. Brock followed all of these as he trotted beside the dry red dirt road. He could hear the insects humming and above him, the forest rang with bird calls. The world seemed verdant, dense, kaleidoscopic in the way the shades of green and brown danced together. Time seemed to hang still and heavy above him, but Brock didn't mind.

Here, in the rough pine forests and the low hanging Spanish moss, he had found his home.

Brock found the others. It looked like they were waiting on him and he counted them as he slipped closer towards them. He could see Cahira, with her fine features and her easy posture. Chase, looking every bit as regal as an old wolf. Zuri, the local witch, with her long braids and her wise eyes. Tate, too, was there. She sat on the hood of an old Ford pickup truck and watched everything like an old hawk. Brock shifted behind a patch of vines and slipped out of the forest. He moved gracefully now, his feet soft and light like a coyote's. There was no need for him to be anything different, no need for him to hide who he really was. Brock allowed himself a wry smile. He would have been a better agent as a coyote.

Tate raised her head as he broke the circle. "So. This is the man who finally convinced Paragon to go from the internet to the real world."

"My partner was in danger." Brock met her cool, blue eyes. "Isn't there someone you would do the same for? Someone who means more to you than life itself?" He paused. "I would do the same today. I'd burn the world down for Jack."

"I understand." Tate slid off the truck and turned to face him. "We've still got a problem. Who hired you?"

"I don't know," Brock replied. His lips narrowed as he considered the possibilities. "We were supposed to guard a convoy. Nothing major, but I think it was heading too or near Paragon." He shrugged. "Their money spends as good as yours and we needed the cash. Probably wasn't my finest hour, but I've been known to do stupid things."

Tate just shook her head and glanced towards a dusty dirt road. "I think you might have invited a real evil down here. I hope you haven't, but I really think you have."

The thing was, Brock knew what she was talking about. He had a nasty feeling that Paragon had been using him and they wouldn't be happy with his choice of alliances.


	7. Darkness Coming

The thing was, Brock was no stranger to doing stupid things and having bad things happen as a result. He'd done wet work before. He had also done more than a few very bad things when he had the Asset with him. Perhaps it was just better if he left things at that. Brock leaned against an old pine tree, watching as the others talked. Zuri, the witch, seemed more interested in playing with her braids than she did listening. Chase looked like he wanted to go kill people and Tate looked like she would lead the charge. Brock mentally thought things over. None of the pack was military, but then, neither was Paragon. It turned out that creating a repressive police state really didn't lend itself to attracting the best and the brightest.

Brock raised his hand. "So you're telling me that HYDRA had it's hand in some religious shit? As in, those guys on TV who were selling packets of water, silver powder, and bleach? _Those_ guys?"

He had to hand it to Pierce. The man sure knew how to make a buck.

"These days, Paragon likes to finance itself through weapon development." Zuri knelt down and scratched a design into the dirt. It looked like a cross supported by two crossed rifles, but Brock wasn't sure. Zuri cleared her throat. "We know they have contracts with China and North Korea. That much is common knowledge after the DOJ breached some server farm. We just don't know what those contracts entail. We know they have experimented with toxic gas - some form of Lewistite, I think. We don't know what they're doing with it."

"There was the CDC labs in Georgia," Brock volunteered. He swore under his breath. "If those guys know what they're doing - "

"Most of the material was burned in the evacuation." Tate cocked her head, her eyes focused on Brock. "I thought you knew that."

"I spent most of that time in the ICU," Brock drawled. "It wasn't exactly fun. I was trapped under the wreckage of a helicarrier and I had fuel oil dripping on me. And sparks. And hot grease. So excuse me for not knowing exactly what was burned when." He couldn't help the fact that he was growling or that he was glaring at Tate. "You can't exactly keep up with the news when you're half dead in the hospital. So I apologize."

Tate glared at him. She looked like something out of a horror story, with her golden eyes and the way the change appeared across her face. She looked like some mixture between coyote and human, like some creature that had no place in either world. Brock watched her change in some sort of stunned silence before he shifted too. He lunged at her, his fangs scraping over her sides. Tate wheeled on her paws. She snapped at him, her fangs just inches from his tail. Brock lunged at her. He sank his fangs into her shoulder, tearing down to the bone. Tate slipped out of his grip, raking her blunt back claws down his side. The two of them snapped and snarled at each other.

Tate bled from her bite, the bright red blood staining the forest floor. Brock favored his right front paw, his golden eyes narrow. Tate lunged at him. She grabbed him by by the ruff and tried to pin him down. Brock ripped away from her, sending droplets of bright red blood across the dirt. Some of it hit her truck. Tate lunged at him again. This time she sunk her fangs into his leg and pulled him down. Brock yelped from the pain. Blood, bright red and hot, stained his creamy fur. Brock panted heavily and tried to struggle up. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he panted. After a few minutes, he lay still. Tate pinned him down. Her hot breath was even louder than his heart.

Brock hadn't missed this. He hadn't missed getting beat up by some pain in the ass Alpha. To be fair, though, he had probably deserved this one. It had also been a very long time since he'd had four legs and a tail. Going by Tate's scars, she was more than used to fighting like this. Hell, Mitra said that she had pulled down fucking werewolves, so he was pretty sure that she was good at fighting. The fact that he got his ass handed to him was just a side effect of that. Fighting in your coyote form was a learned skill and Brock was more than a little rusty. In his defense, though, he had literally been trying not to get killed or vivisected by HYDRA. That, of course, meant nothing when one had a very pissed off coyote pinning him down like he was an errant pup.

Tate licked the side of his face and chewed on his ear before she let him back up. Brock bounded up and started shaking the dust and dirt out of his creamy fur. Dirt and blood stained. It was a real bitch to get out of his fur, especially if he didn't want to stay filthy. Tate arched her tail up, the sunlight making the yellow in her fur sparkle like gold. Chase shifted and nuzzled his side, the darker coyote's eyes gentle. Brock licked the side of his face. Chase started some, but he licked Brock's face back. Tate stood beside him and lowered her head. It was like she was made for the forest. Brock followed her into the forest and crashed into the turgid creek.

Chase crashed in beside him. The three of them swam around in the water and Brock pulled himself out. He shook his fur dry before sitting down and howling. It was a long, drawn out cry, but it was everything that he had bottled up inside of him. It had been so long since he'd been able to do this. Chase sat beside him and howled. After awhile, Tate joined in.

This was all he wanted, all he _had_ wanted. He had Jack, he maybe had Mitra, and he had a pack. What else could he need?


End file.
